I didn’t know why I was being so cruel to Bob. Well, to be fair, I actually knew exactly why. He was a parasitic hitchhiker in the middle of my forehead which everyone assumed was an STD. And, most importantly, he had completely ruined any chances I had with Darya.
Except, he didn’t do any of that on purpose -- not completely anyway. He was stuck in the Void for many years as a menial worker. A slave to the system. It was driving him crazy and he wanted to be set free. At least that’s what he told me. He took me for a vehicle, or a host to get out of the Void and see the outside. And now he was free, but I hoped that his uses outweighed his annoyance.
I took off the helmet, but kept the headband on while the armorsmith bore a tiny hole through the helmet. It didn’t cost me a thing, except for getting odd looks for asking for such an odd modification.
“Is this big enough?” the armorsmith working on the helmet asked.
“Oh yeah, more than plenty.”
He sighed.
Bob hesitated, but then spilled the beans. As he laid out the secret in full detail, a smile formed on my face. This was just the sort of insider information I wanted to hear, and couldn’t wait to get inside the [Whispering Bog.]
I turned to the armorsmith. “On second thought, perhaps you could make it larger, eh?”
Out of the armorsmith shop, the next stop was the wands shop. I wasn’t so much looking for a new pair of wands as I wanted information and schematics to make new, better wands myself. Except it was closed. I peeked through the window into the dark interior and saw empty shelves. This was unfortunate as I had been looking forward to seeing what the next tier of wands were like. I moved on to the next place instead, the enchanter.
Its entrance was marked by a sign with ‘Enchanting’ that seemed to shimmer with arcane energy under the sunlight. Stepping inside, I was enveloped in earthy scents. Fine dust lingered in the air. In the center of the shop was a contraption that looked like a magitech grinding wheel adorned with intricate runes and glyphs. I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe.
The shopkeeper wore goggles, looked up when I entered. “Be with you in a moment,” she said. With a wave of her hand, the wheel sprung back to life, and the ordinary stone gleamed with a metallic sheen. Sounds of grinding and the crunch of glass came from within.
Around the shop the walls were lined with shelves, each laden with a myriad of glass jars of different sizes. Inside, the fine powders shimmered in various colors. Crystals, chunks of minerals, bones, pieces of various metals, and ivory laid on the shelves too. While she finished up with her task, I studied a slate board behind the counter showing enchantments with corresponding prices from as little as 20 silver and up to 2,000 gold.
I determined that there were ten item types that could receive enchantments. On top of the regular assortment of blessings, such as attributes, resistances, mana, and mana regeneration, each item type had their own unique blessing type.
* Helmet, to All Attributes
* Chest, % to HP
* Gloves, % to Action Speed
* Pants, % to All Resistances
* Boots, % Increased Movement Speed
* Belt, % Increased Area of Effect
* Amulet, % Increased X Attribute
* Ring, % Increased Maximum Mana
* Cloak, % Reduced Cooldown
* Weapon Specific, weapon type blessings
For the most part, it was the tier of the enchantment, from tier one to tier ten, that dictated the price. However, some enchants were expensive based on demand for the unique blessing that item type had. Judging by the prices, it seemed like everyone wanted the movement speed blessing for their boots and action speed for their gloves.
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“Can you always get the exact blessing you want?” I asked her.
“No, of course not. You can’t force it, but you can guide it.”
“Guide it how?”
“There is great detail and mastery in the flourish of the hand, the selection of the finest ingredients, and the coarseness of the grind.”
Fortunately, he had a great understanding of how enchanting worked based on a completely different, and a much more scientific take on it. He was able to give me a quick rundown, including detailed probabilities of success. The blessings on the item were built up one by one, and while enchanting the first blessing on an item was guaranteed, each subsequent enchantment had an increasing chance of destroying the item. The chance of getting the maximum number of six blessings on an item without the item turning to dust was quite rare, a meager 5.97%.
The chance of a successful second enchantment was 75%, which meant that if I tried to enchant eight pieces of my equipment, I was likely to lose two of them. The chance to get three blessings was at 49.5%, and would likely result in the loss of half the equipment.
I could see people running back and forth between the armorsmith and this place when their items got destroyed. No wonder they had suggested that I go see an enchanter. I didn’t want to lose any of my equipment by gambling, so I decided to go with a single tier two enchants across my gear. As for jewelry, she sold a number of rings and amulets already enchanted.
There was still the matter of relics to consider in the future. They couldn’t be enchanted, but took up an item slot. However, the relics shop had gone under.
I didn’t even need to remove my gear, but I had to close my eyes when it came to the helmet. She started with the gauntlets, and I had to hold them close to each other. After combining a variety of fine powders into a vial, she mixed them together, and then dusted the gauntlets in a grand flourish, making a show out of it. I could feel Bob roll his single eye into my forehead at the superficial display.
***
Wromor the Elder, head of the Dereweth Clan, ascended the steps to the Grand Temple in the heart of the ancient city, nestled amid lush gardens and towering pillars. Its grand façade, adorned with intricate carvings and shimmering mosaics.
He had a purpose in mind and impatience at heart. As he stepped through the ornate entrance, the air felt heavy with the scent of incense and the soft murmur of prayers. Inside, was a sanctuary of tranquility, bathed in soft golden light that filtered through stained glass windows. He passed by marble statues of gods and goddesses lining the halls, heading to the heart of the temple where the inner sanctum lies, to where the High Oracle resided.
Before entering the sanctum, Wromor left a suitable offering with the temple clerk. After which, he was guided past the thick curtains into the sanctum. Inside, the air hummed with mystical energy, and the walls were carved with cryptic symbols and ancient texts.
In the midst of it was a scrawny Drakon wearing silks -- the High Oracle himself, sitting among cushioned pillows, and surrounded by all manner of sweet delicacies. The air was full of flowery scented smoke, and Wromor wasn’t certain if the smell was pleasant, or much too clammy for his liking.
Despite the early hour, the High Oracle was already well into his daily trance. His head swayed gently from side to side as if rocked by soft waves. Sensing an approach of a supplicant, he slowly peeled open his tired eyes, revealing the red eyes of wisdom and foresight.
“Wromor the Elder, head of the Dereweth Clan, has come seeking guidance about his youngest son. Is he alive? Is he dead?” the High Oracle said.
Wromor was startled to find such a direct insight. Most often the oracles spoke in prophecies and other cryptic nonsense that didn’t mean anything until well after the fact -- and barely at that. However, when it came to whether someone was dead or alive, most often than not they were quite direct and on point. If not for that, Wromor didn’t know why they continued to build these Grand Temples.
“No word has reached us for three years now,” Wromor said.
The High Oracle plucked a grape and savored it. “Almost. It’s another few days.”
“It’s much less than a few days now, isn’t it?”
“Well, it sort-” Suddenly, the High Oracle’s body tensed up, and his head snapped upward. Wromor had seen this before, and he groaned on the inside. A prophecy was coming -- he hated those things. To the side, he heard the scratching of a quill as an assistant hasted to jot down what was being said by the High Oracle.
“In the age of shadows, a Kevin shall rise.
A golden key, clutched in his claw,
Unlocks the gates to realms of awe.
With his third eye, a beacon of wisdom …”
Sighing on the inside, Wromor tuned out the rest of the incoherent blabber. None of it made any sense. What the hell was a ‘Kevin?’ He never heard of such a creature before, but it had evoked a feeling of dread in his mind. What sort of a monster was it?
Looking exhausted, the High Oracle finally stopped, and slumped back into the pile of pillows. He reached out and stuffed his snout full of delicacies, chomping loud.
Wromor waited a minute before asking. “What does this have to do with my son?”
“Your son?” The High Oracle sat back up awkwardly, blinking. “Oh.”
“He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“Uhm.” Mouth open, he looked up, swaying gently. “Well, this is odd. I-I ..uhm, I don’t actually know. So, maybe?”
Wromor smiled. That answer was good enough for him.